


Nosebleeds and Sweaty Sheets

by unholygrass



Series: Human!AU [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 0-100 real quick, Alternate Universe - Human, Concerned Boyfriend, Connor has suffered mental abuse before, Healthy Relationships, Hospitalization, Human AU, M/M, Pneumonia, Poor Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:05:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholygrass/pseuds/unholygrass
Summary: Connor gets very sick. Markus does his best to take care of him. Human AU





	Nosebleeds and Sweaty Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> HEY this is apart of a super huge Human AU I have going rn. If you're interested in the details of it, I have more about it on my blog at Cownnor on tumblr, under the tag HumanAU or Mine. This work is not to the same degree as some of my others. It's not clever or poetic. I wrote it only while it was fun and then I did not reread it, so if it is a mess, that's why. I wasn't aiming for perfection, and I wasn't actually going to post it until a few different people requested that I did. So please just keep that in mind while reading so you don't get disappointed at the quality of this work!  
> I will maybe add more to this if it feels right. I have a lot more in mind with it. 
> 
> That in mind, I also have a lot of Art Pieces that go with this fic, and you can also find them on Cownnor at Tumblr under the Mine tag.

When Markus wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t immediately notice that anything is wrong. He doesn’t have any pressing matters to deal with until a meeting at two, so he takes his time to enjoy waking up at his own pace, watching as the shadows in the bedroom dance in according to the tree’s swaying outside. It’s a little chilly, and he suspects that soon they’ll need to turn on the heat finally, but for now he just hunkers down further in the comforter and soaks in the warmth that comes from sharing the bed with Connor.

Connor, who is sleeping on his side, with his back to Markus. The t-shirt he’s wearing is thin, and Markus can see how his shoulder blades move with each breath he takes. They don’t often get mornings like these, where neither of them have an immediate responsibility to tend to, so Markus takes the time to cherish it for what it is.

Or he tries to, but he’s interrupted by a fierce cough that comes from seemingly nowhere. Connor’s body curls in with the force of it, small wheezing noises coming out every time he sucks in quick gasps of air, only to choke on them seconds later.

Markus sits up, concern washing over him. Had Connor been coughing like that all night? Markus was a hard sleeper, sure, but surely he would have woken up to the wet hacking that echoes off the walls of their room. It takes several long moments for the coughing to settle down, but Connor doesn’t seem to stir.

Markus goes to reach to place a gentle hand on Connor’s forehead, the nursing student in him coming out to play, when he startles.

Blood is seeped into their sheets under Connor’s head, still leaking from his nose to ass to the mess. It’s messy, smeared across his cheeks and even dripping into his hair and ear.

“Connor, hey—” Markus is moving before he has much of a conscious thought. He gives Connor’s shoulder a firm shake, already throwing off the covers and climbing out of bed. “Connor, wake up.” He has tissues on the windowsill above their headboard, and he snatches them, tugging a few loose and shoving them beneath Connor’s nose in an attempt to stop the blood flow.

Connor startles spectacularly, jerking up and nearly headbutting Markus as he does so. “Wazzit— what’s happening— Mar’us—” His voice is horribly slurred and nasally, movements jerky and uncoordinated. His hand instinctively goes out to Markus’s side of the bed as if to grab him.

“Right here. It’s okay. Hey there.” Connor’s eyes are glassy but clear some when they land on where his boyfriend is kneeling on the bed, one hand still pressing the tissues under his nose. “Sorry I startled you.”

“You—” Whatever Connor was going to say is cut off when a horrible cough punches out of his lungs, bending him in half. Markus only just barely manages to keep the tissues in place, but he can see the faint trace of blood on Connor’s teeth from where the blood had drained into his mouth throughout the night. It takes a moment for the coughing to subside, and when they do Connor lets out a very elegant “Ugh.”

“Yeah.” Markus agrees. He finally takes notice of the heat radiating off Connor’s skin. He’s definitely feverish. He pulls the tissue away for a second to see if the flow as stopped, but the coughing seems to have only made it worse.

Only then does Connor seem to take notice of just what Markus is doing. He glances at the blood covering Markus’s hand and the bed, a frown tugging on his lips before his hand comes up and takes the tissues himself, batting Markus’s hand away. Markus hands him a few fresh ones to add to the mix.

“I’m g’ad ‘ou’re not ‘squimis’,” Connor tells him, eyes closing. “I ne’ver get ‘ose bleeds.” Even with the nasally tone, Markus can hear how raw Connor’s voice sounds.

“I think it’s from the coughing.” He slides off the bed and ducks into their bathroom, voice rising to carry back into the bedroom. “Were you coughing yesterday too?”

“A ‘lilttle.” Connor admits. They’d missed each other the previous day— Markus had been up and out before five am to go meet with some city hall representatives about beginning a charity fund for the underprivileged youth in the city, and then Connor had been called to a crime scene at seven and hadn’t been able to come home until one am. It was the all too common story of their lives. Connor could have been sick the entire day and Markus wouldn’t have had any way to really tell. The thought is upsetting.

He rejoins Connor in the bedroom with some wet rags but doesn’t even attempt to scrub at the blood staining the sheets. They’ll have to wash them completely with a treatment or just throw them out completely. Instead he sits next to Connor again and begins to gently wipe away the blood caked on his cheeks and in his ear. It stains his skin orangish.

Connor looks at the bed. “Sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t wake up.”

Markus frowns. He was the hard sleeper, but Connor was the one who woke up at the slightest creek, kept awake by their upstairs neighbors walking around, stirred every time Markus rolled over. The fact that Connor had slept hard enough not to wake up because of his bone deep coughs or a bloody nose makes the concern in his stomach only increase.

“Yeah, I’d say you’ve really got a nasty bug.” Markus gives up on trying to clean Connor’s face. The only way to get the rest off would have to come with a shower. He tosses the rags in the trash under their bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a truck ran me over.” Connor tells him, pulling the bloody tissues away. The blood seems to have stopped for now. Connor scowls as he has to breathe through his mouth. “Just achy. When do you have to leave?”

“Not until later. If you want I can call in and reschedule—” Connor’s already shaking his head no before he finishes.

“No, I have to go work anyway—”

“You’re kidding me.” Markus’s face is already twisting at the thought of his obviously ill boyfriend trying to go into work and actually be productive when he was shaking with fever. It makes him scowl.

“No. I have to go in to work— we have a manhunt out on a family annihilator, and Hank and I are heads on the scene. The only reason I came home last night was because Hank made me.”

“He’s going to make you today too. You’re sick, Connor. You’ll just get everyone else sick too.”

“I’ll wear a mask. I really can’t stay home today. If he gets out of city limits—”

Connor isn’t looking Markus in the eyes, and that tells him that even Connor knows he’s being foolish. “No one expects you to work like this. You need to call in.”

Instead of answering, Connor throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands, only swaying for a second as he closes his eyes against a sudden bout of nausea. Markus watches him from the bed. “You’re being stupid.” If they weren’t so close, Markus would feel bad about kicking a man when he’s down, but he knows Connor, and he knows that he won’t listen to anything but the blunt truth.

“I’m going to shower.” He’s headed off into the bathroom before Markus can protest, closing the door behind him and ending the argument. Something hot thrums through Markus’s veins, pissing him off and making him itch to do something. His boyfriend was being an idiot, and if he wasn’t so goddamn stubborn then this entire thing would be so much easier.

He knows the anger only stems from concern, but it’s still anger nonetheless. He waits in the bedroom until he hears the sounds of the faucet running, and then goes out into the kitchen to get started on coffee.  

———

Markus knows that Connor really feels like shit when he finally joins him. Instead of his sharp button up and oxfords, he’s sporting his maroon hoodie and slim boots. It’s his hangover outfit for when he has to go into work but can’t be bothered with all of the buttons on his shirt. He’s so pale that even the warm lights above the countertops wash him out. His eyes are red rimmed, and he has his hands shoved in his pockets.

Markus’s heart aches. It almost hurts, the physical need to wrap Connor up in a blanket and force him back to bed.

“Quit looking at me like that.” Connor grouches, mood foul. Markus isn’t surprised. He’s not a ray of sunshine when he’s sick either.

“You look like you’re about to kneel over, Connor. Please stay home. Just call Hank and tell him you’re sick. He won’t care, you’re  _ never  _ sick, he’ll understand.”

“I know he would, but the fact is that a there’s more important things going on than the fact that I have a cough. If Jackson Wallace gets out of the city, he’s going to disappear. I owe it to that family to catch him.”

Markus hates that he understands where Connor is coming from— it almost makes sense. Connor’s job was important, and he was probably correct about their manhunt.

But Connor also isn’t the only person on the damn police force. Sure, he was one of the most capable, but the others could deal without him for a few days, Markus was sure. “You’re not the only one working on this. They can get by without you. Hank has enough experience,” Markus says, leaning forward on the counter as he watches Connor pour his travel mug full of coffee.

“They’ll have an easier time if I do go in. The faster we find him the less people he can put in danger.”

“Hank is going to be so pissed that you came in.”

“He’ll get over it.” Connor says, grabbing his wallet and badge. He sucks in a tiny breath of air before it comes out as a strangled cough, deep enough to sound particularly painful even though he muffles the sound in his elbow. It makes Markus wince.

Markus tries another tactic. Getting upset with Connor often didn’t produce results simply because he was just as stubborn as Markus was, but if he played the boyfriend card... “Connor. Please stay home. Please. For me.”

Connor shakes his head and kisses Markus’s temple before heading for the door. He doesn’t seem as hot when he does, and Markus suspects he downed some cold medicine while he was getting ready for the day. “I’m fine. I honestly feel better. It’s just the cough.”

“Sure.” Markus deadpans, obviously not agreeing. Connor gives him a ‘What Can You Do?’ sort of look on his way out, which only pisses him off more. “I love you!”

“I love you too.” Markus relents, because even if he’s mad at Connor, he knows better than to ever let him out those doors to his dangerous job without telling him so.

———

Markus tries not to spend the day mad, because it’s not worth it. Connor is a grown ass man, and he doesn’t need someone else babying him.

Except that he does, because Markus saw how Connor was living before they started dating— that is to say, poorly. Connor hadn’t even owned a first aid kit. Sometimes Markus suspects that the only reason Connor hadn’t accidently died was because he had Nines and Markus to make sure he ate, and Hank to make sure he went home from work.

Markus doesn’t get much done that day— how could he, when all of his thoughts keep drifting back to how painful Connor’s coughs had sounded? Just the thought of Connor standing out in the wind with other officers, setting up roadblocks in the cool fall air makes him shudder. He was only going to make himself sicker. Markus had never seen someone wake up with a nosebleed because of how hard they were coughing in the night, not even in his clinical rotations on the ICU floor.

After he gets home from the gallery, the Lieutenant calls him. A faint trill of panic races up his spine even though he was expecting to get a call at some point today.

“Your boyfriend is a fucking idiot.”

“I know.”

“Come and get him. I can’t have him here anymore.”

Markus is already moving, shoving his feet into his shoes as he reaches for the keys to their shared car. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t trust him to get himself home on the bus. I thought he was going to pass out getting out of the car at the scene. I’d bring him home myself, but...”

“But the roadblock. Okay, I’m on my way.”

———

When he gets to the address Hank’s sent him, he’s greeted by a great corral of police cars surrounding an abandoned building. He can tell from the officers mulling about that whatever they were doing there wasn’t particularly crucial because there seems to be no urgency in any of their movements. After a bit of searching he finds the Lieutenant sitting on the curb next to Connor hidden behind a car, thoroughly away from the main action. Markus suspects they’re there to keep Connor’s pride in check.

Connor’s bent over himself, but his posture is relaxed, and he’s not vomiting, so Markus takes that as a good sign. As he walks up he gives Hank an apologetic look. “I tried to keep him home.”

“Yeah, I figured you did. You’ve got some common sense in you.” He gives Connor a little nudge with his elbow but doesn’t get much of a reaction. A strangled little cough comes from him before he’s consumed by a fit, face hit behind his elbow as he muffled himself. They seem to be heavier.

Markus kneels down in front of his boyfriend while he’s distracted and puts a hand on his forehead. Whatever medicine Connor had taken that morning have obviously worn off, leaving him feverish and freezing. The heat emitting off of him is stronger than it was in the morning. He’s wearing his DPD issued jacket over his hoodie, but he’s still wracked with chills. The frustration at Connor begins to melt away with each second that he sees Connor looking so miserable.

“Let’s get you home then.” Connor is watching him, but after a moment he pushes himself to his feet and takes Markus’s hand when he offers it.

“I don’t want to see your ugly face again until your fever has been gone for twenty-four hours  _ at least, _ Connor. You hear me? Stay home and fucking rest. We got this shit covered. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Connor’s obviously in a daze because he doesn’t tell Hank that he just called him ugly and pretty in the same breath, but he allows Markus to tug him back to their car nonetheless.

Once they’re started back towards their apartment Markus cranks up the heat and points the vents at Connor.

“Thanks.” He croaks, voice in even worse shape than it was earlier. Markus wants to lecture him about his health— about how he’d only made himself worse and how what he’d done was stupid.

But then Connor rests his forehead on the glass, his hot breath making it fog, and he looks so impossibly miserable that Markus doesn’t have the heart to scold him. He’ll go off on him later when he’s feeling better.

They hit traffic on the way home due to rush hour, and it makes Makrus itch to get Connor home. Every now and again he folds over himself to cough violently, struggling to draw in air as his lungs convulse. Halfway home Markus puts his hand on Connor’s back and leaves it there. He takes it as a good sign that Connor doesn’t try to shake him off. Sometimes when he was in a particularly foul mood, he loathed being touched.

They’re ten minutes away from their apartment when Connor sits up straight, eyes closed tightly. “I’m gonna throw up—”

“Do you need me to pull over?”

“No— just— gotta get home.”

“Okay, hang on, we’re almost there.”

Connor ends up throwing up in the trash can in the car park, gripping the sides of the barrel with white knuckles as his stomach tried to dispel itself. It lasts for several minutes and leaves him shaking. He wipes his mouth with a tissue he had in his pocket and lets out a low moan. All that’s come up is the coffee he drank that morning and the burger he’d had for dinner with Hank the night before. After another few minutes he’s steady enough to begin the walk back to their apartment, with a little help from Markus’s arm.

“You were right,” Connor admits as they enter the elevator.

Markus hums thoughtfully.

“I shouldn’t have gone into work.”

“No,” Markus tells him, “but it doesn’t matter now.” He glances over at where Connor is leaning against the elevator wall, skin tinted grey and hair around his temples starting to darken with sweat. As frustrated as he is with Connor’s stubborn streak, he finds the anger from before disappearing.

It’s hard not to understand where it stems from, afterall. If it weren’t for Amanda, they probably wouldn’t have to be dealing with Connor’s overwhelming sense of responsibility for things he can’t control. Markus knows that Connor tries not to fall into the mentality that she practically beat into him and his brother, but he’s not superman, and it’s fucking hard to change fundamental pieces of yourself like that.

The anger seems silly, when he remembers how Connor’s illnesses were treated in the past.

So Markus reaches out and takes Connor’s hand in his, and gives him a tight squeeze. It’s enough to prompt Connor into opening his eyes to look over.

“I’m not upset with you,” Markus says. “I just worry.”

“I know.” They’ve arrived on the forty-seventh floor and step out towards their apartment. “Sometimes I just...” He cuts himself off with a wicked cough that seems to rip out of his chest. The sound of it is impossibly loud in the narrow hallway. When he’s finished he doesn’t start speaking again, and Markus doesn’t prompt him.

Instead he unlocks their door and ushers him inside where they shed their coats and shoes. Connor makes a beeline for the couch, sitting down gracelessly and almost instantly melting into the cushions.

Markus lets himself take a breath. He’d gotten worked up after their fight and having to pick Connor up, but there was no reason to be upset now. Connor had a bug, but he would be okay, and now they were at home where they could control things. Everything was going to be okay now.

———

It takes Markus a moment to realize he’s fallen asleep on the couch. He’s stiff all over and when he sits up his neck cracks twice from the odd position he’d been lying in. It’s dark out now, and the only light that fills the room comes from the idling TV, throwing crisp blues across where Connor lies next to him. The TV says it’s almost midnight.

He pulls himself up properly and takes a moment to examine where Connor lies. He’s wrapped in one of the couches throws, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, his hair loose from its normal gelled style. The light from the TV makes him look gaunt and thin, and Markus realizes he’s never thought of Connor as too thin. He was lithe, sure, but he knows personally that Connor was wrapped in strong muscle and probably sturdier than most men his age— and yet in this light, sick as he was, he looks particularly ill.

Markus is just glad that he’s sleeping. Maybe if they were lucky he would sleep through the night. He goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water, contemplating if he should bother trying to move Connor to their bed or just let him sleep on the couch when he hears the telltale sounds of someone stumbling into the bathroom.

He waits a second, because he isn’t sure— but then the sounds of retching drifts down the hall, and Markus grimaces. He snags a small towel and runs it under the faucet before making his way to where he can hear Connor throwing up in their only bathroom. He’s slumped over the toilet, dry heaving painfully. Markus fills up one of the cups in the bathroom with some water and plops down next to him, waiting for the spell to pass.

Except after a few minutes it becomes clear that it isn’t going to. Nothing’s coming up— he hadn’t eaten much and already thrown up all his food from yesterday earlier. At this point he’s just suffering through a series of dry heaves that make his back bunch and convulse painfully.

“Easy, easy—” Markus sits up and pushes the fringe of sweaty hair off of Connor’s forehead. “It’s done. Try to relax. Take a breath.”

Connor listens to his instructions to the best of his abilities, sucking in a quick gasp of air that only comes out again as a heave when his stomach refuses to calm. He’s rocking slightly as he fights the clenching of his stomach, trying to stop the convulsions that want to tear past his throat. He lets out a little breathless whine between hiccups, his arms beginning to shake from the force of which he hangs onto the bowl.

“You’re okay.” Markus tells him, speaking without much conscious thought. The need to comfort stems from years of taking care of his father. He keeps brushing his fingers through Connor’s hair, hoping to soothe him past the faint panic that always comes with vomiting. “Keep breathing.”

Connor gets in two more deep breaths before he has to lean over again, stomach clenching violently as he brought up nothing but bile and phlegm.

“Ugh—” Connor is interrupted by his own rebelling stomach. “Fuck.” Markus spares him a glance and realizes what Connor is referring to. His nose bleed from that morning is back, and blood streams quickly from his nose, dripping from his chin and landing in the toilet bowl. He takes another breath, barely choking on the blood that tries to flood his mouth, and spits into the toilet. “Gross.”

Markus snatches toilet paper from the roll and gets a strange sense of Deja vu as he presses it under his boyfriend’s nose once again. Connor lets out two more weak hiccups before seeming to settle, greedily breathing through his mouth as he tried not to succumb to the tugging in his stomach. He’s shaking badly, still gripping the toilet while he lets Markus mop at his face.

“When you get sick you really go all the way, huh?” Markus teases, trying to lighten up the situation. Connor gives him a little huff. He hands the wet towel over and gets clean tissue to try to stop up the bleed. Connor wipes at his mouth halfheartedly. It’s strange to see him so weak. They do a little shuffling and eventually Markus gets Connor sitting back against the tub where he can close his eyes against the bright fluorescents of the bathroom. He still looks gray, and by now he’s sweat through his hoodie, his hair sticking to his forehead.

Markus finishes cleaning most of the blood from him and offers the glass of water. Connor takes it but hesitates.

“You can wait until your stomach settles, but you need to drink something,” Markus tells him, drawing a clean towel across his forehead. Connor shivers at the touch but leans into it.

“I know.”

“Do you want to try to lie down?”

“Maybe in a minute.” Connor takes a sip of the water and flashes Markus a weak smile, reaching for his hand. “Thanks.”

Markus sits down next to him, their sides pressing up against one another. He reaches up and runs his fingernails across the short hairs of Connor’s scalp and gives him a chaste kiss at the temple. “Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
